


Nights are for You (or Five Times Arya Visits Gendry in the Forge and One Time Gendry Visits Arya in the Castle)

by ASwornStark



Series: Nights are for Wolves [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Face-Sitting, Oral Sex, This is so vanilla, Vaginal Sex, it's been So Long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 16:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18480292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASwornStark/pseuds/ASwornStark
Summary: She hasn’t visited the forge since Jon returned home with the dragon bitch (the Stark sisters’ favored name for her) and him in tow.





	Nights are for You (or Five Times Arya Visits Gendry in the Forge and One Time Gendry Visits Arya in the Castle)

**Author's Note:**

> Iz here!!!!!!!!! It has been so long since I posted I'm sorry. I got a new job and have not had any time.  
> Anyways. I have not watched the new episode yet but I edited this first to post! I'm sorry if it isn't good.

i. 

“Ah, Gendry, there you are.” Jon enters the forge and sets off in one direction with a sureness in his steps that Arya barely recognizes.

Arya, following, spots the dark-haired boy – man – sitting at his workbench with a scroll of tools in front of him as he works a piece of wood between strong, rough hands. She hasn’t visited the forge since Jon returned home with the dragon bitch (the Stark sisters’ favored name for her) and _him_ in tow. It wasn’t that she was scared to see him. She’d already seen him when she’d embraced Jon, letting her eyes linger on his even hardier frame. The time they’d been apart had clearly done him good. His hair was cropped shorter than she liked, but he’d grown a few more inches and he looked strong and healthy. His eyes still glowed that brilliant blue and there was a softness in his gaze when he surveyed her while she looked on pointedly. So, no, she isn’t afraid of Gendry Waters.

She just doesn’t need to be here.

Gendry smiles as the Stark siblings come closer and uses the back of his arm to wipe his sweat slick forehead. His gaze remains on Arya and she swallows hard before blowing out a breath. The forges feel even hotter, suddenly. He stands as Jon runs a hand through his thick, curly hair, pulling it back so he can lean in to look at Gendry’s perfect work.

“My lord,” Gendry says, “How can I be of assistance?”

Arya almost scoffs at the way he speaks. It’s so unlike the Gendry she knows, who has only ever wanted to be his own man.

“Start by calling me Jon.” Her brother winces a bit. “And then, you can fix this for me, if you’ve got the time.”

“If he’s got the time?” Arya mutters, rolling her eyes. Both of them are utterly ridiculous. It’s like Jon forgets he’s supposedly the Warden in the North and fixing his sword is Gendry’s whole purpose.

Both men look to her with raised eyebrows. She can feel her cheeks turning pink, but she only rolls her eyes again before moving off. She’s only with Jon because he asked her to come along for a walk, so it’s not as if this conversation means much to her anyway. She runs her fingers along a half-finished helmet as she approaches one of the roaring fires.

She stands there until Jon and Gendry have dealt with a few matters, then follows her brother out of the forge.

ii.

She doesn’t know why she agreed. It’s not as if Jon doesn’t have hundreds of people to boss around at the castle. But no, her big brother had decided that only _she_ could walk to the forge in the cold weather to retrieve his sword. She has her fur cloak pulled tight around her and her hood pulled low over her face. When she enters the forge, it’s so fucking hot she practically rips it off of her body, hefting it over an arm as she walks between a narrow bench and the wall.

She finds Gendry with his back to her. He’s sitting at a different workbench this time, further away from the fire.

And he’s shirtless.

Arya swallows hard, realizing Gendry hasn’t heard her come in. She raps her knuckles against a breastplate sharply and his head jerks up. His eyes widen as he drinks her in, and she takes only the smallest pleasure in that.

“Ar—Lady Stark,” he says.

She would usually hate this, but for some reason it sounds really, _really_ good when he’s standing before her in nothing but a loose, dark pair of pants and thick black boots. She blinks, finding his eyes again.

“Arya,” she whispers. They’ve had the conversation enough times that there isn’t much more to say besides that.

There’s a moment of silence between them as he processes this and then Gendry is shifting around his bench and moving quickly towards her. Every inch of Arya’s skin is on fire as he nears, but it’s only to lift Jon’s sword off of the bench she’s beside.

“You’re here for Jon.” It’s not a question. “I assume you'd like to inspect it.”

She nods numbly, holding a hand out.

Their fingers touch as the blade passes between them, and Arya only just stifles a squeak. She tests the blade in both hands, runs her finger along the newly rebuffed handle, and gives it a cursory swing. Nodding, slightly, she licks her lips as she hands it back to him. Gendry lifts the sheath and in a swift motion that makes his muscles ripple, he covers the blade before handing it off to her.

Despite the chilly air as Arya leaves the forge, she doesn’t stop to pull her cloak back on as she half-sprints back to the castle.

 iii.

“The handle is worn here,” Gendry says, “and you need a bigger blade for your size now. This one is so light I doubt you can even feel it.”

“It suits me,” Arya replies, shrugging. “The lighter it is, the faster I can be.”

“Don’t be stubborn, Arry. It doesn’t work.”

Her brow furrows. “Don’t be stupid,” she snaps back.

When their eyes meet there’s a fierce, angry look behind his. This sends a thrill through her. Her heart pounds and she can _feel_ the wetness between her legs. Somehow, it seems like Gendry knows this. The anger has melted from that look and now there’s something else there. Something that doesn’t scare Arya, exactly, but does make her shiver.

“I’ll—I’ll fix this one. But I’m making you another.”

She leans against his workbench as he takes her sword from her and starts pulling out his tools. “I don’t need something else. Really, Gendry.”

“Y’do,” He mutters. He steps back towards his work, letting the hammer clank against metal again.

Arya swallows her angry answer. She finds the clasp of her cloak and undoes it. Shrugging it off, she moves closer to him while he works. He turns to look at her and rubs his eyes in frustration.

“You don’t have to stay.”

“I’ll stay until you’re done.” She loosens the collar on her shirt and takes her hair in hand, twisting it up to the top of her head and looping it into a knot.

A soft laugh rumbles through Gendry’s chest as he watches her. “Making a sword takes days.”

“I’ll wait.” She assures him.

She doesn’t.

iv.

The next night after everyone has gone to bed, Arya returns with a basket of bread from the kitchens. She makes sure to close the door to the forge with a loud bang so that Gendry knows she’s come in. Sure enough, when she rounds a corner, he’s standing and waiting for her.

“You brought me bread?” he asks, amused.

“No. The bread is for me.” She puts the basket on a table beside her and unclasps her cloak. Underneath she’s wearing one of Sansa’s ridiculous dresses. Her older sister had gotten it made for her and presented it to her that morning. She told her to wear it _just once_ and if she hated it, she could burn it. It’s a soft, grey and blue fabric and offers less coverage than Arya thought it would. She’d grown a pair of breasts, somewhere between King’s Landing and home. Now, they spilled out of the bodice for the world to see. Apparently that world included Gendry.

Arya sat down at a bench while Gendry laughed, barely taking his eyes off of her as he slammed his hammer back down. After a few blind swings, he refocused. It was just Arya watching him quietly, ripping her bread into tiny pieces and shoving them into her mouth.

She didn’t know how long she sat there before Gendry joined her. He approached slowly, pulling a shirt over his head to cover his sweaty torso. In only a few weeks, his hair had grown thicker and she wanted to run her fingers through it. Instead, she busied her hands by offering him a piece of bread and tossing another bite into her mouth. It was miraculously still warm, and Gendry’s eyes closed in pleasure. A quiet groan fell from his mouth and it made Arya turn pink.

“That’s good,” he said, scrubbing a hand across his face and giving his head a shake like he’d just awoken.

“Not as good as Hot Pie’s though.”

“Ah,” Gendry nodded, “too bad he isn’t here.”

She doesn’t mention that she visited him. For some reason, she wants to keep it to herself. It’s strange how much she could miss a boy who had annoyed her so much. Somehow, Hot Pie was like any of her Stark brothers. A few years ago, Arya might have said the same about Gendry. Not now though.

They talk for a few minutes while he stuffs himself on bread. He teases her about Needle some more and Arya might have been mad if she isn’t too busy feeling hot in all the right places.  

“So? The dress?” His grin is wide and crooked.

Startling, she looks away and blushes. “My sister asked me to wear it. She had it made special,” she says defensively.

“Looks nice,” he says.

When she glances back at him, he’s still looking at it, or more accurately, at her. His eyes settle at her slim, sturdy waist while he chews. Arya wonders what this means. Ever since Gendry found out that she was a girl, he’d seemed to find any hint of femininity in her hilarious. This night proves that. He’d been laughing since she’d arrived.

But she doesn’t hate that he laughed. She wants to laugh at herself too, for all of the girly things she’s doing. Like wearing a dress and following her big sister’s orders. And visiting a boy she likes in the dead of night.

She can’t possibly be redder when she gets to her feet, skirt swishing around her legs. “Keep the basket, alright?” she says, “I should go before someone goes looking and they don’t find me.”

He looks vaguely put out but stands as well. “Go on, Lady Stark. You’re a distraction anyway in all that finery.”

She can’t help the laugh that escapes her, looking down at her feet to hide how much she likes the stupid jest/compliment. As she shrugs her cloak back on, Gendry returns to his work. She offers him one last wave before she leaves the forge and begins the cold walk home.

v.

It’s a few nights later before she lowers herself onto a bench beside him again. This time, when she removes her cloak, her normal pants are in place of the dress. She hadn’t burned it, but she doesn’t think she wants to wear it for a while. Gendry teases her about it at first, but lets it drop between them quickly.

He’s not working on her sword tonight. He says it’s finished but he’ll show it to her later. Arya isn’t a patient person but doesn’t say a word. She’s grateful that she won’t need an excuse to spend more time in the forge than she needs to. She’s resigned to the fact that she truly enjoys being here. Gendry is working on some intricate design at the handle of an axe. It looks to Arya like a dog with a fierce sneer. One half of its face is rough and sinewy looking. She doesn’t even know how he could accomplish such a look with his big fingers.

“For Clegane,” Gendry says, “I figure if I have to make him a weapon it might as well have his ugly face on it.”

She smirks and nods. “You’re very good at this.”

“Thanks.” He finds her eyes and smiles.

Arya’s heart leaps as he turns back to his work. It takes him awhile before he finishes this task and then he’s finally ready to show her the new sword. Despite her constant protests, Arya is interested to see what Gendry has made for her.

She takes the blade from him, trying not to seem too eager. He’d taken the Valyrian steel she’d insisted on and fashioned something very similar to Needle. It was an extra inch thicker and only a bit longer, but it bore a great resemblance to her gift from Jon. Surprisingly, what she enjoys most is the handle. Like the axe, Gendry had taken special care with it. The carving of a wolf’s head is detailed and has a striking resemblance to Arya’s sweet direwolf, Nymeria. How Gendry could unintentionally meet that likeness, Arya isn’t sure. She gives the sword a few testing swings as Gendry looks on with a smirk.

“Fine,” she snaps, “it feels good.”

He walks her to the door of the forge this time. She’s holding the two empty baskets in her hands to return to the kitchens and he’s wiping his face with a clean cloth. The sword is strapped to her belt beside Needle, and they swing and bump into each other. When they stop at the door, Arya pulls her cloak on but doesn’t fasten it yet.

“Will you go to sleep now?” She asks him, fiddling with the clasp. She’d seen a cot at the back of the forge. While the other men went home to their wives, Arya assumed that bed was for Gendry.

He nods and his inky black hair falls into his eyes. “I might.”

“I wondered if you ever did that.”

Gendry leans against the frame of the door and sighs. “I don’t sleep well.”

“Because of the White Walkers?” Arya asks.

He reddens slightly. “Because of the dragons.”

“You spend your whole day surrounded by fire,” she snickers.

“Which means that I know what it’s like when it’s out of control,” he points out, “Daenerys is the last person I would think to keep her dragons in control.”

“Dragon bitch,” Arya mutters.

“Ah, is that what you call her?”

She stiffens, wondering if she’s said the wrong thing. It would make sense for Gendry to support the dragon queen. He had to hate the Lannisters passionately for what they’d been doing to him his whole life, and Daenerys seemed to hate them just as much.

“I like it.”

When his face breaks into a smile Arya feels that same swooping sensation in her stomach. She _loves_ this man so much. She loves that no one can put him under some spell.

Before she even realizes she’s doing it, she’s reached up and around his neck and she’s kissing him. A soft sound of surprise comes from him and he goes rigid for a second, before melting into her. His hands come up behind her, one cupping her shoulder blade and the other pressing into the small of her back. Gendry’s lips feel dry and rough. He’s a messy kisser, but Arya doesn’t mind. It’s not as if she’s had much time to practice at this either. All she can do is gasp into his parted mouth and press her body more firmly against his. She doesn’t know how long they stand there, entwined in each other, but it’s she who pulls back first. Her breasts rise and fall beneath her shirt and she shakily reaches up to fasten the clasp of her cloak. She swallows hard, as they look at each other under flickering torchlight.

Gendry speaks first. “I’m sorry—”

“It’s not—that was—”

“—a mistake. I shouldn’t…”

She recoils slightly at the word, a flash of anger rippling through her. Gendry seems to realize that she’s upset because his hand reaches out for her, but she’s already walked through the door.

i.

Only a few hours have passed since Arya kissed him. _Stupid! Stupid!_ She chants in her head. She’s holding the new blade in her hand and contemplating whether she should throw it away. She decides against it, not wanting to waste the steel. Instead she throws off her clothes and lets it clatter to the ground among the heap. Crawling into bed like a little girl, she shuts her eyes and hopes that sleep will take her away from this awful feeling of embarrassment.

She’s barely slept when she rolls onto her side with a groan. A knock has sounded at the door and she imagines its Jon, waking her early for sword practice. But when it’s Jon he’ll whisper something to her—something silly or stupid. She rubs her tired eyes and climbs out of bed.

“Who is it?”

There’s no answer.

Scoffing, Arya opens the door just a touch, tilting her head up to find blue eyes looking back at her. Unknowingly, she takes two steps back and he matches them, slamming her door behind him. His hands find her waist, barely covered by a threadbare white slip. Her breath hitches as her head jerks down, taking in how small she looks in his grasp.

“Tell me,” Gendry chokes out, pulling her focus back to him, “tell me to stop.”

She inhales shakily, eyes drifting down to his lips before shaking her head slightly. “Don’t stop,” She breathes.

He moves suddenly, taking her mouth with ferocity. Tentative hands become an iron grip around her body, crushing her small but strong form against him. She whimpers at the feeling of their bodies rubbing together. His clothes feel rough on her bare arms and even through her shift.

“Gendry please,” she gasps as he pulls away for half a second to get some air. “Please just—” She pulls helplessly at his layers as he deepens the kiss and she can feel the soft rumble in his chest as he understands.

Backing her up until the backs of her legs hit her bed, he pushes her down into a sitting position before breaking the kiss and unclasping his cloak. He shrugs his shirt over his head and when he kisses her again, he presses their bodies together once more and elicits a moan of deep approval from her.

“Better?” he chuckles.

Arya swats at his arm before wrapping her arms around him and slipping her tongue into his mouth. Now it’s his turn to moan as she easily hooks a leg around his body and flips them over. Her hands smooth over his taught muscles, teasing darkened nipples as her lower body shifts above his. She’s felt this before—the wetness between her legs. What’s new to her is the hardness below, that twitches to life and makes her moan. When she glances between them, she takes note of the wet spot she’s left on his breeches, blushing as Gendry bucks up towards her, grinding them together. His rough palms cup her face and pull her against him. Their foreheads touch as he moves underneath her and she shifts above, their eyes locked as soft gasps fill the room.

“Come here,” Gendry breathes, pulling on her arms.

She doesn’t know what he means. She’s as close as she can get to him. But then he insistently tugs her body up so that her knees fall just below his arms. A soft lick of his lips tells her what he wants and she shivers in response, wanting the same thing. A part of her, the old part, remembers coming upon Anguy in a similar position with an innkeeper’s daughter while Gendry was at her back. She remembers how it had made her feel and the rough touch of Gendry’s arm on her as he yanked her away from the improper sight. Now, she pulls her smallclothes down from underneath her slip and throws that over her head as well, leaving her naked as she climbs over his arms. His hands find her thighs and presses her body down over his face so he can offer a firm lick to her already wet folds.

The sensation is strange and new to Arya. It’s odd trying to balance herself above him while he does something to her that makes every muscle inside of her quiver. Her quiet curses and cries of his name fill the room as she leans back to use his chest for balance and cups one breast in her hand. Gendry curses softly beneath her, licking and sucking sloppily until her thighs clamp around his ears. She can’t stop the rolling of her hips as the familiar sensation of pleasure rushes through her, ten times as powerful.

As she shudders down from her high, she lets Gendry manhandle her onto her back. The playfulness he’d exhibited only minutes ago is dissolved. His face hovers over her and he looks like he has a million emotions all boiling to the surface at once.

“Don’t run away from me like that.”

“Don’t call me a mistake.”

He winces at her. “It’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” she says.

“You’re the one that pulled away. I thought I was…” He swallowed, rubbing his thumb along her cheek. “I thought that I was _your_ mistake.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh.”_

His tone is just this side of mocking and Arya rolls her eyes. “Come on, idiot.”

She tugs his body against her and moans when he cups her breasts in his hands. His knees are planted between her legs and the way his hips are settled against her core sends fiery sparks through her clit when they roll their bodies together. He bends his head to capture her lips tenderly. Arya’s fingers move down between their bodies and she unties his breeches, allowing his hard cock to hit her bare skin.

“Fuck,” Gendry grunts. He lets her go to pull his trousers fully off. With them both fully naked, he crawls up her body, kissing her flat stomach and setting his attention on her breasts with his tongue. One of his hands fists his cock quickly while the other finds her soaking folds and aching clit.

A small part of Arya knows this is wrong. If anyone found out, Jon and Sansa may never speak to her again. There is no doubt in her mind that she can convince her siblings to spare Gendry if they are caught, but her own reputation is on the line.

_Fuck that._

She swats his hands away and grips his cock in her own. The skin is soft under her touch and she can feel how his whole body reacts to her. Pumping slowly and grabbing his hip, she brings the spongey head to her entrance and gasps at the feeling of it slipping inside. The noise Gendry makes is partway between a snarl and a whine. His body shakes as Arya puts her hands to either side of his face and forces him to look at her. Her mouth is agape in pleasure and she offers a nod of the head, telling him it’s okay. Slowly—agonizingly slowly, Gendry pushes his length inside of her to the hilt. She doesn’t feel any pain. She’s not sure if that makes sense, given all she’s heard about fucking, but yet again, she doesn’t care.

Her legs wrap around him as he thrusts, slowly at first, and then faster over time. Their foreheads are still pressed together and she’s watching his blue eyes while he watches her grey ones. Arya can’t get enough of the needy noises coming from his mouth. She loves the way her name sounds when he’s desperate. It’s every wrong thing she’s ever imagined and more. Reaching between them, her fingers find her clit and rub in shaky, uneven strokes. It doesn’t take long before she comes undone, using her other hand to dig her nails into his back for purchase. Gendry kisses her urgently as she pulses around him and when she’s come down, he slips out of her and spends on her stomach with broken off moans. By then, Arya is boneless and lying wordlessly on her back. She reaches out weakly for him when he finishes, and he buries his face in her neck. Her fingers glide through his hair and he sighs.

“I should go,” Gendry says, making no move to leave.

“Don’t.” She tightens her arm around him and reaches for the covers, concealing their bodies as she wraps her bare leg about his waist.

He shakes against her and she knows he’s laughing. “You want me dead?”

“I want you _here_.”

They both sit up at the same time and she gives Gendry her most serious face. He touches her cheek, rubs his thumb against her bottom lip, and smiles. “As my lady commands.”


End file.
